


Surely Heaven Waits for You

by Katescharmedlife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Brothers, Cure, Dean's mark, Death, Deception, Gen, Ghosts, Mark of Cain, Saving Sammy, original sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katescharmedlife/pseuds/Katescharmedlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would Castiel kill Sam Winchester to save Dean?<br/>How could Dean be happy in heaven if the person he loved most in the world was suffering in hell? Was there a way to save Sam? My first fanfic piece so please be kind. Just an idea about original sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surely Heaven Waits for You

Surely heaven waits for you. The words rang in Castiel’s ears as he sat in the back of the Impala. They had just finished a pretty basic salt and burn, but Dean had decided to impart some hunter’s wisdom on the bright eyed kids they had helped. “This is no life for anyone who has a choice. It’s too late for me, I’m as good as dead, I know how my ending is played out, at the end of a sword or a bullet, or by any one of a couple dozen monsters out there with my name on its lips. But you’ve got your whole future ahead of you. Forget about all of this, and move on with your lives.”

Dean spoke in jest, a smile on his face, but Castiel could see the pain in his eyes when he said it. He couldn’t tell Dean what his true destiny was, because he just didn’t know. Once, he could have told him “My Father has a plan for you,” and know it was true, but not anymore. God had abandoned him and his brethren, and the future was an unknown quantity, and so he held his tongue. But the Winchester boys were an unknown variable. By all rights they should both be dead, still be dead, but only one of them in his own individual heaven, complete with busty Asians and plenty of pie.

He listened to the brothers talking from the back seat, “Dean, you didn’t mean that, did you?”

“’Course not, Sammy, if I died, who would look after you?” he replied with a laugh.

Castiel stayed out of the boy’s discussion, as usual. He preferred to remain an objective, albeit intently listening observer.

“Besides, what would the afterlife be without my baby bro’ to keep me company. You’re stuck with me ‘till the end.”

“Ever wonder what heaven will be like, you know, for each of us? Will we be together? Is there an overlap? What about Dad, and Bobby? How does that work?” Sam’s questions came like rapid fire.

“Hold up there, Sammy, there are some things that maybe we just don’t need to know, isn’t that right, Cas?”

“Cas! You know how it works, will our friends and relatives be waiting for us at the pearly gates, or is it just like some individual VR program, where we just think we’re not alone.” Sam asks him.  
“I’d rather be in Purgatory fighting the good fight with Sam than be locked up in some “Altered States” illusion, plugged into the Matrix, stuck in my own head.” Dean says, “Right Sammy?”

Castiel says nothing, looking out the window from the back seat of the boys’ car at the passing scenery. His eyes shift to Dean’s face in the rearview, his expression blank, “Heaven is personal, different for all those who enter.” He can’t look at Sam, for fear that his thoughts will be written on his face if he does.

Castiel may not know the mortal fate of the Winchester brothers, but he knows where each one will spend eternity.  
Dean catches his eye in the mirror, and Castiel looks away, but too late. Dean has seen the doubt in Castiel’s eyes.  
Sam, oblivious, plays with the radio, landing on chick rock, clueless as to why Dean doesn’t immediately argue with him about his inferior taste in music.

The three of them, lost in thought, say nothing for the rest of the drive to the Bunker.

Two boys, brothers, are running along the side of a ditch, throwing rocks and mud clods at each other.  
“Ow, Mike, that hurt, don’t throw so hard!” The younger boy calls.

“You’re such a baby, Christopher, little cry baby!” the older boy hollers, drawing out the name ‘Chris-to-pher’, as he jumps across the narrow but steep ditch. Now they’re running on either side of the ditch, and Christopher struggles to keep up with his older, faster brother. He decides to try to jump across the ditch, just like Mike did, thinking ‘I want to be just like him.’ He leaps and almost makes it, so close, but as his back foot touches down, he loses it, and he’s falling backwards into the hole in the ground.

“Mike, Michael, help me, Mike, I fell!” Mike stops dead in his tracks and races back to his little brother. The ditch is at least seven feet deep, and even laying down on his stomach, he can’t reach his brother to pull him up. He panics, tells him he has to go get help, he can’t get him out by himself. Christopher is jumping up and trying to touch the top edge of the muddy dirt wall, and the sides and out of the ditch, where his brother’s hand just was a moment ago.

“I’m gonna go get Uncle Mark, he can get you out!” 

Christopher panics, “No, you can’t leave me here, please Mike, I’m scared, please don’t go!” But Mike is already running back to town, back home to get help.

Half an hour later, the older brother returns to where he left Christopher, his uncle in tow, to find an empty ditch, with two sets of footprints leading away, on the opposite side, and disappearing into the leaves and brush of the woods.

 

There was a possible case in Kingsley, Iowa, turned out to be a false lead. Just another incident in the aftermath of the annual meeting of the Iowa Women’s Knife Fighting League.

A few days later, Sam is reading through a dozen or so small local papers in the southwestern states. Winter is coming, and he’s tired of the cold and the snow. He comes across some disappearances and missing bodies from the county morgue in Beaver Dam, Arizona. The boys gear up and head out.

“So, vamps?” Dean is driving, Sam beside him, scrolling on his tablet.

“Says here, two local children went missing and a body disappeared from the local morgue in Beaver Dam, Arizona.”

“You said “beaver”.” Dean snorts.

“This is serious, Dean, kids have gone missing.”

“Beaver.”  
“Jerk.”  
“Bitch”

They drive through Phoenix to pick up supplies. Freezing temperatures and snowfall have iced up the road into town. Stranded vehicles litter the off ramp of the I-10. An unprecedented six inches of snow has fallen in the past 36 hours in central Arizona, virtually closing the city down.

“Global warming, my ass.” Dean says as he pulls into the lot of a small motel just outside of town.

“It’s global climate change, Dean. Learn the difference.”

“All I know is, it’s just our luck we take a case in Arizona and there is record breaking snowfall. And none of these people know how to drive! A little snow and everyone abandons their cars in the middle of the road. Looks like a zombie apocalypse hit,” Dean says.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think they know what a snow tire is in this city.”  
They find a cheap motel and settle in for the night.

The brothers suit up in morning and head out to Beaver Dam and check in to yet another cheap motel.

They walk in to the Sherriff’s office first, flashing the badges that Sam made at a Kinko’s in Phoenix that morning, and begin to inquire about the missing kids.

“I’m agent Ritchie, and this is my partner, Agent Beverly, we’re looking into the two recent deaths that took place here.” Dean says to a large, red faced man behind the only desk in the office.

The Deputy tells them that there was one kid missing, an eight year old, not two. The missing kid’s brother, twelve, took ill, and was dead in under a week after his brother went missing.

Sam heads to the County Morgue to enquire about the body of the twelve year old.

Dean visits home of the missing child. The kids lived with an uncle, a good guy, but not terribly present for the boys.

Saturday, Sam pays a visit to the coroner. Asks about the body of the older brother. The coroner says it looked like the life had just been drained out of the boy, like he just gave up.

Sam and Dean go back to sheriff’s office, there is news of the body of the 8 year old, found in an abandoned hunting lean-to in the woods. Not all monsters are supernatural.

When Christopher was abducted and killed, he couldn’t move on. He refused to follow the reaper sent for him, not without his brother. His ghost lingers around Mike, who became less and less present in his body. Hi slips in to a catatonic state, and when his brother comes to him to call him out to play, he is terrified, at first. The guilt and shame he feels about leaving his brother in the ditch is overwhelming.

But Christopher smiles at him with love and adoration, he holds nothing against Mike, “Come out and play with me, Mike. Let’s go before the sun goes down.” Mike stands up on his own for the first time in over five days, steals one furtive glance at the pale and fragile body he leaves behind, and takes his brother’s hand.

Sam and Dean find the ghosts of the two boys in the lean-to that the eight year old was killed in.

“Looks like we’re gonna need a reaper,” Sammy says.

“I’ll call Cas.” Dean already has his phone out, speed dialing the angel.

Castiel explains to the boys that if they move on, they will be together in heaven.  
The reaper comes for both of them, takes both their hands, and they are gone.

Castiel has vanished, off to do “Angel stuff.”

Dean is driving, Sam is shotgun, heading back to Lebanon, to the bunker.  
If something had happened to Sam when they were kids, Dean says he would have faded away too, he just couldn’t handle the idea of having grown up without Sam. The guilt would have been even worse than the loneliness.

Sam tells him the older brother was not in any way responsible for his little brother’s death.  
Dean tells him, the hell he wasn’t. It was his job to watch out for him, it was his responsibility, and he fell short, doesn’t matter that he was only twelve.

The brothers talk about normal life, life as a hunter, life in the bunker. Bunker life being the preferred of the three.

As they are walking into the bunker, Sam brings up heaven, and the afterlife again. He talks about how Castiel made it easier for the boys to move on, by telling them they would be eternally playing in the fields together, like a Saturday morning that never ends.

Sam cracks a joke about the eternal Sunday afternoon that he and Dean would spend together in the bunker, drinking whiskey, surfing porn, and cleaning guns as he is walking away, towards his room.

Dean is sitting alone in the library of the bunker, middle of the night.  
“Cas, I need you, man. Please.” Dean spoke with reverence, in prayer. “I need to talk to you about Sammy.”  
There is the slightest feel of butterfly wings on the back of Dean’s neck, he hears a flutter, and Cas is standing behind him, hand on his left shoulder, comforting him.  
Castiel is stoic.  
Dean turns to him, gives him a sideways look and says don’t you dare suggest that Sam would not be present, in heaven, in Dean’s afterlife.  
And if not, just where the heck would Sammy be?  
Castiel does his head tilt, thousand yard stare, and says

“Ruling. In hell.”

Castiel is inches away from him. “Dean,” Castiel says in a low rumble, his eyes downcast, then quickly meeting Dean’s as he continues. “I know you love your brother, but Sam is weak, corrupted, he has done unforgivable things. Try to understand, his fate is sealed.”

“I’ve done things, Cas, things I’m ashamed of, things that I can’t forgive myself for.”

“Yes, Dean, and therein lies the difference. The shame and regret that you feel, for things you have done. Your brother doesn’t feel that shame or regret. Things you did in hell, things you’ve done under the Mark, these are not things you chose to do.”

“The hell I didn’t, after decades of torture, I was happy to pick up the whip in hell. And as for the mark, I chose to take it, and maybe I’m just showing my true colors, Cas.”

“You didn’t take the Mark of Cain covetously, and strong though it may be, it is only a curse, and you are stronger.”

“And Dean, in hell, there is only an illusion of free will, there was no true choice.”  
“How the hell would you know, Cas, you weren’t there! You can never understand it.”

Castiel shifts imperceptibly closer to him, touches Dean’s left shoulder, and Dean, he feels a cold, clean burn under his skin. The actual handprint has faded over the years, but it still feels like sunshine, lightning, and freezing rain when Castiel touches it, and Dean feels like he could breathe fire.

“I know, Dean. I know what is in your heart, in your soul. I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. And the Mark I left on you, as commanded by my Father, is the Grace of God.”

“So, you’re telling me what, because I’m touched by an angel,” He steps away from the Castiel, “I have some of your magical pixie dust? Not impressed, Cas. Some of your kind are real douches.”

“No, Dean, you do not have any of my grace. All humans have a spark of the gift of the Grace of God. It’s in your DNA. You are born of sin and forgiven by Grace. It’s why some angels envy your kind. The grace we receive is pale in comparison. And we can lose it, whereas yours is a part of you.  
“But the Mark I left on you is special, and it’s not my grace, it’s His, and it could only be given to a Righteous man. It is God’s promise that you can never be sent back to hell.”

“So, this is a get out of hell free card? Is that what you’re telling me?”  
“Yes, Dean, that is what I’m telling you.”

The little bit of sleep that Dean manages to get is fitful and peppered with nightmares. Sam drinking demon’s blood, his own memories of hell, of his father, looking at him with a terrible disappointment.

And finally he wakes with an image of Castiel speaking in hushed tones to an oblivious Sam, telling him something, something so important, about a case? A job? as Sam stares blindly through him.

Dean shakes it off, showers and dresses, meets Sam, who has been up, for a while and has made and drank almost a pot of coffee. Dean is left with the bitter dregs at the bottom of the pot, too lazy to make a fresh one.

“What’s the word, Sammy?”

Sam is on his laptop, scanning through small town newspapers.  
“It’s oddly quiet. Or maybe I just don’t know how to recognize weird anymore. Anyway, I got nothing.”  
“Except, maybe, this.” Sam says, “(Small town in) Washington. Two people dead, of apparent suicide, pretty gruesome, less than a week apart. Both were deacons of a small Catholic church in town.” He slides the screen over so Dean can see the blurry crime scene photos.

Dean looks up, Sam is downing the last of his coffee, but it’s not coffee, it’s demon’s blood, and it pours down his face as he gulps it down. Dean tries to hide his shock, but Sam sees it.

“What, not bloody enough for you? Don’t tell me you’re that jaded.” Sam wipes the side of his mouth, smearing blood on his hand and wrist. “This is perfect for us.”  
A moment later, Sam is walking down the hallway to his room.

Ten minutes later they are both packed and in the Impala, heading for the job in Washington.

In the hotel room, Dean watches in quiet horror as Sam leaves bloody handprints on everything he touches. There’s no blood on his hands, but it’s there like a thick film on everything he handles. Dripping off of the nightstand, soaking into the heavy comforter on the twin bed he has claimed. Sam hands him a room key card, and it’s slick and sticky and warm.  
Dean drops the key card like Sam has just handed him a live spider.

“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been giving me that Norman Bates look for this whole road trip. Are you losing it? Do you need me to call Cas?” Sam picks up the key card and drops it on Dean’s pillow. It lands with a soft, wet thunk. 

Dean sits on the foot of the bed and watches as a red stain spreads out from the key card in the center of his pillow. He’s seen enough to know the difference between “real” real, and supernatural real. He puts his hand on his face and thinks, prays “Cas, please, I n –“ and before he can even finish the thought, there is a ruffling sound of wings, Castiel is standing in front of him, facing him. Sam jumps at the sudden appearance of the angel.

Castiel looks around the room, looks over his shoulder at Sam, then back at Dean. Dean can tell by his expression that he can see the blood all over the room, on the pillow of his bed. But before the brothers can say or do anything, Castiel gently places two fingers on Dean’s temple, and the blood is gone, like it was never there.

Sam, confused, and more than a little irritated, turns to them. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just let you girls have some alone time,” he leaves in a huff.

“Cas, what the hell, What the Hell, Cas! Am I losing my mind here?” Dean says as he stands up, so close, he can see the pupils in Castiel’s eyes dilate.  
Castiel places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Sit down, Dean.” It’s not a request, and Dean’s legs give out, and he sits down hard.  
Castiel places a hand on each of Dean’s shoulders, “Dean, this is not beyond your control. The more you fight the Mark of Cain, the stronger your visions will be. What you are seeing is a manifestation of the evil that is in Sam. The demon’s blood that has become a part of him, that has usurped the grace of god within him. Your brother has already been judged and found to be wanting.”

“So, I go to heaven and Sammy spends eternity in hell. Jesus Christ, Cas, what kind of sick bastard of a god came up with that plan?” Dean curses under his breath.

Castiel straightens up, standing his full height, arms crossed over his chest, head back and looks down at Dean, “Do not blaspheme, Dean.”

“Sorry, Cas. Sorry,” Dean says, managing to look both ashamed and amused at the same time. Dean touches the mark on his shoulder, invisible now, but he can still feel it, bright and cool under his skin. “There has to be a way, and I’ll find it or join Sammy in hell.”

Sam leaves the motel room and takes the Impala and finds the old Catholic church. It’s open, but it’s empty.  
He walks in and sits in a pew in the back, taking the place in. An older man, late 60’s, pushing a janitor’s trolley, comes out of a door behind the alter. Sam approaches him, flashes his FBI Id.  
“Uh, good evening, I’m agent Beverley, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”  
Sam gets the following info – the two men who died were lifelong members of the church; one, a lawyer in his 60’s, the other an accountant (also a veteran) in his early 40’s; they knew each other very well, as did their wives; both men were members of a church volunteer group, of which there is a women’s auxiliary group.

Sam thanks him for his time and starts to leave. He sees a bulletin board with fliers on it. One is for a meeting of the women’s auxiliary group, on Tuesday, (it’s currently Monday night). He takes the flier and stuffs it into his pants pocket.  
He returns to the hotel.

Castiel is gone, Dean, in a much better mood, is sitting watching cartoons (or possibly soft-core anime, Sam isn’t sure) and eating junk food.  
“What’s the word, Sammy? Find anything?”

“Well, we have a meeting of the St. Paul Church the of the Impartation women’s auxiliary volunteer group to attend on Tuesday.” Sam says, handing the flyer to Dean.  
Sam says, “I’m thinking witches.”

Dean looks at the flyer and says, “Times like this, I really miss Iowa.”

“At least we’re not in Kansas anymore.” Sam says with a straight face.

Just past lunch hour rush at local diner. The brothers enter, dressed in civvies.  
Dean is checking out the desserts under glass on the counter.  
“Uh, we’d like a table.” Sam tells the waitress who approaches them.

Dean chats up the waitress, Sam is researching local history on his laptop.

That evening, they are in suits, FBI mode, and head out to the St. Paul Church the of the Impartation women’s auxiliary volunteer group.  
Dean starts to flash his badge, and Sam joins him.

“Afternoon, ma’am. We’re agents Beverly and Ritchie, looking into the two recent deaths that took place here.” Dean says with a nod.

“You mean suicides, don’t you, agent?” A woman in her late 50s corrects Dean.

“That hasn’t been confirmed yet, ma’am,” Dean says to her.

Meanwhile, a forty-ish woman approaches Sam and asks him to come by her house after the meeting, she is the accountant’s widow.  
The meeting breaks up, the brothers leave and split up. Sam shows up at widow’s house. She invites him in for coffee.  
She tells him that yes, her husband was a war veteran, but no, he was not suicidal, he was well adjusted, saw a therapist, took his meds. She insists that this wasn’t like him, she would have seen something, and she would have had a clue.

Dean heads to the church, planning to go in through the alley entrance, and do some reconnaissance. He finds some witchy stuff in a back room in the church, but it’s crap, looks like it was purchased off eBay, or an “As seen on T.V.” site, and it’s all made in China. He hits a brick wall in the form of a back room with a hi-tech alarm system that he can’t get past with his lock-pick. “Gonna need some reinforcements.”

Sam meets up with Dean back at the motel to discuss their findings.

“Well, we could call in Charlie, but she’s a good three days drive from here.” Sam suggests.  
“Or, we could just ask Cas.” Dean says quietly, glancing at the ceiling.  
There is a flutter of wings and Castiel appears next to Dean.  
“Dean,” he says in a low rumble, making Sam jump.  
“Yeah, Cas, we could use some help,” Dean says casually, a hand on the angel’s shoulder, as they turn away from Sam.

“Wait, wha’, what the fuck? You two are freakin’ me out,” Sam says, shaking his head and pacing behind them.  
Castiel and Dean turn toward each other and look over their shoulders at Sam.

“Stop acting like such a little bitch, Sammy, we got work to do,” Dean says, as he sits down on the edge of his bed.

“Jerk,” Sam says as he grabs his jacket and walks out of the motel room.

They are in the Impala, Castiel is in the back seat, absently staring out the window while the brothers argue about who would win in a fight, Amy Winehouse or Lady Gaga.

“I’m just saying, do not underestimate the power of a tiny penis” Sam says, immediately regretting his words.  
“If you say so, Sammy,” Dean says with a laugh.  
“What, wait, no, that’s not what I meant. Jerk.”  
“Bitch.”

Castiel loved them both, but not equally. It didn’t matter that the younger Winchester boy was not at fault for what had been done to him as an infant by the yellow eyed demon, and it was the combination of the demon blood in him and the choices he made as man that had sealed his fate and damned him. True, Dean was damaged and flawed, like any other human, but he was also chosen, his fate sealed by the very nature of his righteous soul. Dean was the one that Castiel had gripped tight and raised from perdition, as commanded by his Father, and the Mark he had left on him was God’s guarantee of his place in heaven. Even the Mark of Cain couldn’t nullify the divine Grace that would always be a part of Dean.

They get to the church and find that there is no magic or coven here, it’s empty and cold.

There is still the door that Dean could not break into to deal with.

This door, in the back of the church, looks out of place, like it has no business being a part of this mid-20th century church. There is a keypad, and a small screen, just the right size for a thumbprint.  
Dean’s tone is irreverent, “Can ya angel us in there, Cas? Flap a wing, or something?”  
“Of course, Dean.” Castiel raises his hands to touch them both, but before he can, Sam steps up to the door and starts fiddling with the alarm system,

“Really, Dean? You needed help with this? I’m glad we didn’t call Charlie, she would have driven three whole days out here just to laugh at us both.”  
Sam continues to break into the system, and in a few moments, he has the door unlocked. The brothers, flashlights and guns in hand, slowly open the door. The room is small and empty, except for an old desk with a few books on it and a worn leather chair. There is a safe in the wall, it looks as though it was once covered by a picture frame or a painting. The boys walk in, cautiously, and Castiel follows, turning his back on them and quietly closing the door.  
“Wait, Cas, don’t close that!” Sam yells, but too late. There is an audible click as the door locks into place.  
Castiel stands with his back to them.  
“Dean,” he begins, only to be cut off–

“What the holy fuck, Cas?” Dean yells.  
Castiel holds one hand up, “Let me finish, Dean. I had to bring the two of you here, to the Church of St. Paul of the Impartation. And I have something to impart.”

Sam starts to protest, but finds his voice has been cut off, he snorts in anger and clenches his jaw, looking accusingly at Dean. Neither one of them can speak or take a step. They aren’t frozen, but they are restrained.

Castiel, turns to the brothers, his head bowed. “I have never understood the concept of original sin.” He begins in a quiet, lecturing tone. “But I accepted it, as it is the will of my Father.

“Sam,” Castiel continued, his eyes cast down “when you were an infant, you were tainted, against your will, by the blood of the yellow eyed demon. It changed you, your DNA, you are not quite entirely human; you lack the Grace of God that all other humans have.” Sam flexed against the invisible restraints, clenching his fists, looking for some kind of answer from his brother, but Dean couldn’t look at him.

“I have never thought this was just, but accepted it as a simple matter of fact. An action allowed by my Father, and therefore not to be questioned.”

Castiel raised his head from its bowed position and looked at Dean. “But Dean, I can no longer stand idly by and watch your brother destroy you. Not when there is a way I can prevent it.”

“Dean,” Sam manages to say in a dry whisper. He pleads, his face twisted somewhere between hate and fear, “Dean, don’t let him do this.” And his voice is gone again, and his brother still won’t look at him.

The Mark of Cain on Dean’s forearm begins to glow, becomes brighter, hotter, and Dean finds his voice. “Castiel, I won’t let you do this, goddammit, this ain’t right, you sonova bitch, and you know it!” His voice is a growl, a demon’s snarl, and he fights to reach Castiel, before he does something that Dean may never forgive him for. “I love you, man, you’re my brother, but I can’t let you hurt Sammy, I’d rather spend the rest of eternity in hell, than lose him!” Dean, fighting, always fighting, manages to move his foot half a step towards the angel, as the mark on his forearm spits fire and sparks.

Castiel gives Dean a wounded look. “I did not bring you here to betray you, Dean. I could never willingly hurt you, or your brother. And I cannot let his fate become yours.” Castiel places his hand over the Mark he left, years ago, on Dean’s left shoulder. Dean feels the stark outline of the handprint as it begins to glow. Castiel places his other hand on Sam’s right shoulder.

Castiel’s lips are so close to Dean’s neck when he speaks again, that Dean feels the words before he hears them.  
“The only way I can save you, is to save your brother.”

Dean feels the cold, clean, burn under his skin as Castiel begins to speak again, "But this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the Lord: I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be my people. And no longer shall each one teach his neighbor and each his brother, saying, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest, declares the Lord. For I will forgive their iniquity, and I will remember their sin no more.”"

Sam’s right shoulder begins to glow, mirroring Dean’s, and he thinks, ‘It feels like sunshine, lightning and freezing rain’, and Sam feels like he could breathe fire.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think.


End file.
